


Chain of Acquisition

by Erua



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: M/M, Sadism, Slavery, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-22
Updated: 2011-03-22
Packaged: 2017-10-17 05:11:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/173246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Erua/pseuds/Erua
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Dark Fest 2011. Prompts: "Star trek TNG, Data/Lore, The two brothers end up on a trade ship/Garbage scow etc and are being sold off as property" and "Star Trek: The Next Generation, Data/anyone, reprogramming, sexual slavery".</p><p>Summary: When the two androids are discovered by scavengers on a crashed star ship, it means the end of their freedom - at least, for a while.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chain of Acquisition

**Author's Note:**

> Star Trek belongs to Paramount. As usual the work of Fred Ford & Paul Reiche III inspired me a bit, so here's to them. :o) The third chapter is an attempt to imitate the writing style of Tanith Lee, because, well, I've always wanted to try that. I hope it doesn't bother anyone.

1\. Eye

The ship was big and dark and everything was broken. No connection between the different parts, no energy going back and forth to create a working whole. Just bits and pieces, silent, snuffed out, easy to break off, put in your pocket, plug in elsewhere. Grise had only been inside for a short while and his bag was already full of them, coils and cables and tubes and one big panel that had come off from a wall with lots of little chips inside. Some of those had fallen out and gotten shuffled to the bottom of the bag, he could hear them clicking against each other, but that was allright, the person who knew how to use them would have to sort out everything from scratch anyway.

He stayed in contact with Grow through the talk-box that was clipped to the side of his overalls. Grow talked all the time. "Wow, this a big room," his high voice echoed through the tunnel that Grise was moving through. "Lots of dead flesh, slippery juice, slimy insides. There is one box in the wall, it's in one piece, I think... I'm going to screw it off now... Lots of cables... careful not to snap any... There, I'm going to carry it on my head... Grise? Hey, are you listening, Grise?"

"Yeah, I hear you," Grise mumbled. He'd come to a place where the ceiling had collapsed and had to work himself into a sweat pulling at the huge slab that blocked his path. He glanced up. He might as well just climb. Any place in the ship was as good as the next. Treasure everywhere. He fastened the bag’s clasps tighter, took a little run-up, bounced onto the slab of ceiling and floated right up into the room above. There it was really totally dark. He took his little lamp out of his pocket, switched it on and let the beam swoop back and forth. Something gleamed in the distance. Something that looked like gold.

"Hey, Grise?" Grow's voice again. "This is getting kinda heavy... You think you could come over here and help?"

Grise ignored him. Shiny metals were good for business – took longer to get rid of, most customers were more interested in tubes and coils, but those who liked shiny stuff always paid a lot for it. He passed over a heap of dead flesh, then another one, and then a whole wall that had crashed down. Lots of cables and little screws and pins. "I'm pulling it behind me now," Grow's voice sounded. "Maybe I'll leave it if it gets too heavy. Or we could get the beamers. Do you think it's worth while to get the beamers? Grise?"

The gleaming golden thing was set in a hard surface. It was actually mostly white with a ring of gold in the middle, and a little black spot inside of that. Grise bent over it, shone on it with his lamp and blew the ashes off. It had a ring of little hairs around it that were attached to two soft, thin, flesh-like flaps.

It was an eye.

Grise put down the lamp and began to remove the chunks of ship from the thing that the eye was part of. There was another eye, a nose and a mouth. It was the face of a person, but not one of flesh like the others that were strewn around the ship like bursting berries. Grise touched the forehead with his feelers, then knocked on it. It was soft, but very sturdy. No surprise it had stayed whole.

"Get over here,” he ordered.

"Well, OK,” Grow’s voice answered hesitantly. “But you’re higher up than me. I can't climb with the box. Do you want me to leave it behind? Shouldn’t we just get the beamers first?”

"No,” Grise panted, lifting another slab of ceiling material off of the staring golden-eyed person and heaving it into a corner. “First come here.” He went on until the load that had been pressing down on the person and keeping him stuck in place was released. The person slid off of what he had been lying on and landed with a dull thud on the ground, blowing up clouds of ashes. What had been underneath him was another one. The face was exactly the same, except that the eyes were closed. Grise could see that they had both been wearing wrappings, but the material was almost completely burnt away.

From behind him he could hear the approaching squeaks of Grow's talkbox. Every talkbox had a changing picture that showed you where the other was and if you had to go up or down or left or right to get to him. It didn't say if you had to pass through a hole in the wall or a crack in the floor, but Grow could slip and slither like the best. He halted next to Grise and peered. “But it’s just more dead flesh,” he said. “It’s useless.”

Grise shook his head. “No. No flesh. No decay. Maybe not even dead.” He got down next to the second person and peeled an eye open. It stared lifelessly.

"Help me,” he said, tugging at the shoulder of the first one. Grow pushed and they turned him over. A flap at the back of the head hung open - and behind it was a mass of connection wires woven like a cobweb around a big socket and spotted with countless tiny, empty lamps.

"Not person," Grise said. “Robot.”

Grow’s head wobbled. His eyes moved from the robot’s neck back up to Grise’s face. “Tusk,” he said. “Tusk is going to love these. He’ll pay good money for them. We’re really lucky, Grise!”

Grise nodded. Carefully he clicked the flap back in place. It was gone instantly. No seams in the skin. Yes, this was very high quality. “OK," he said. “Now you can get the beamers.”

 

2\. Control

Ruutor Tusk loved a good challenge - and this was a particularly delicious one. Two androids with the most complex positronic brains he had ever seen and he could study and reprogram them at his leisure.

One was a quiet, gentle character, curious and naive. The perfect pleasure slave – guaranteed to fetch a good price on the market. The other one would be more difficult to find a proper purpose for. Ruutor had had him switched on for only a moment, but the creature had already done everything from yelling threats to pleading to whispering insults, all the while struggling desperately in his chains. Ruutor was highly tempted to write a program that would tame him, but he didn’t want to risk damaging the android’s mental functions, which formed an impressive, near-organic whole. And there were other ways to discipline living cargo.

Ruutor’s bulky repair-and-trade ship, constructed from parts of abandoned Scarlet Society vessels, found an uninhabited fresh water planet and began to orbit it quietly while its captain started his work. The first thing he did was to create two remote controls that would give the androids' future owner access to all their basic functions – switching them on and off, enabling and disabling their movement, activating and deactivating their speech centres. That last function also came in handy if he wanted to keep the noisy one, who was apparently called 'Lore', conscious for tests without having to listen to that tiresome stream of abuse.

Finally he started adding the essential program to keep an AI in a humanoid body under control – the remote pain inducer. It worked perfectly on Lore, who writhed and screamed soundlessly as long as Ruutor's finger held the button. To his surprise, however, the quiet one, whose name was 'Data', seemed unable to respond to any kind of physical stimulation.

It took Ruutor three more weeks to repair that defect. During the process he kept Data switched on as well, writing, testing and rewriting while the android calmly, tirelessly argued with him about his and his brother's captivity and the purpose of the adjustments. When he realized that nothing he said was going to alter his situation, he began to ask questions instead – about Ruutor’s species, the Scarlet Society and his reasons for escaping from it, the parts of the galaxy he had travelled, the objects he had bought and sold. Ruutor gladly indulged him. He had no secrets and Data was pleasant to talk to.

Finally, after he had typed ‘execute’ for what had to be the fiftieth time, Data suddenly stopped talking mid-sentence, gasped and shivered, his eyes widening with surprise. He looked down at his own naked body. “I am... cold,” he said.

Ruutor grinned. “So it seems.” He gently passed a nail over the android’s hardened nipple, causing him to shiver again. All was finally functioning as it should. “Would you like me to make you warm again?”

Data nodded. “Yes, please.”

Ruutor turned up the heat in the large, mostly empty cargo bay and watched the android, whose limbs had tensed, begin to relax again. Then he replicated a bowl of hot water, a sponge and some washing gel, walked back to Data, dipped the sponge in the water and pressed it to his neck. “Oh!” Data exclaimed. Ruutor smiled, slid the sponge down along Data's throat and began to move it in slow circles over his chest and belly. “Oh...,” Data said again, softly. “That is... very pleasant.”

Ruutor washed the android's entire body, listening with satisfaction to the small gasps and sighs Data made as he processed the new sensations. He knew he would have to make him more sensitive still, more vulnerable, and replace his self-control with a readiness to surrender. But there was time enough for that. It was one of the perks of being a trader to enjoy his slaves while they could still resist. He glanced sideways at Lore, who was glaring back at him, hands clenched into fists, eyes burning with a deep, violent hatred. I should get rid of that stupid twitch in his face, Ruutor thought.

When he had finished washing Data, he put some gel on his hand and began to stroke Data's cock. It grew large and hard as expected. After a few moments the android closed his eyes, his lips parting, his breath growing fast and shallow. Ruutor measured his rising arousal on a nearby monitor. Finally he let go, slid his hands up over Data’s chest and dug his claws into the android's skin. Data's eyes flashed open again, a look of surprise appearing in his face.

Clearly his interpretation of pain signals was in order now, too. Slowly Ruutor dragged his nails down, still looking the android steadily in the eyes. They were wide with anxiety. “You are hurting me,” he said. “Why?”

Ruutor didn't answer. He walked over to a cabinet, took out his whip and struck Data's back. He needed to work himself up a bit more before he could proceed to the final test. Data cried out and Ruutor struck him again and again, watching the android turn his head from one side to the other, his features distorted with pain. The smooth skin began to show dark golden marks that faded away again almost immediately.

Finally the trader put the whip away, unbuttoned his trousers and rubbed his cock with the remainder of the washing gel. He ordered the computer to move the restraints around Data's ankles a few feet apart. Then he lay his hands lightly on the android's slender hips. As he pushed into him, Data cried out again. “Ah... ah… no... please...”

Ruutor covered Data's mouth with his hand. The android's body tensed and trembled until the chains began to rattle. As Ruutor fucked him he considered whether it would be better to make him relax automatically upon penetration, which most owners would probably prefer, or if he would keep it this way – he really was marvellously tight. He reached around Data with his other hand and stroked him again, feeling some fluid begin to leak from the android's cock. Excellent.

After a while he took his other hand from Data's mouth again. The android tilted back his head as if gasping for air, exhaling sharply in rhythm with the trader's thrusts. Then he looked sideways. “Lore...” he breathed. “Lore...”

Ruutor glanced at the other android, whose gaze was held by that of his brother. His expression was changing, the fury mingling with a wild, violent hunger. The state of his body left nothing to the imagination either. How interesting, Ruutor thought. It's going to be difficult for you two to be apart.

Finally Data shuddered and his warm ejaculate gushed over Ruutor's hand, who felt the android's synthetic muscles throbbing around his cock. He had to admit – much of the original programming was already exquisite. It didn't take him much longer to reach his own climax after that. He pulled out of Data, who now hung limply in his chains, avoiding the trader's eyes.

Ruutor cleaned him again and switched both androids off with the remote control. He was tired and wanted to be alone. The next step was to start analyzing their personalities in more detail, see what would be the best way to install the obedience modules. But that could all wait till the next morning. He unscrewed a bottle of irdam wine and drank it slowly, waiting for a query that would determine which of his regular customers might be interested in the attractive couple.

As he crawled into bed, he let the computer read him the results. He snorted as he heard the top of the list. Like he would do all that work and then let it go to waste in the hands of a petty, brainless amateur like Kivas Fajo or Onias Quill. What he needed someone in a position of power, someone with good taste and a full wallet. The Empress, perhaps? The Intendant? One of the Presidents of the various Federations? He vaguely recalled a beautiful woman with short black hair and the most charming of smiles -

"Juriz of Ashrimar,” the computer suggested. Ruutor opened his eyes, staring ahead into the dark. Now that was an excellent idea. A walking, talking, golden-skinned man-doll was just the thing that was still missing from the good prince's collection. He would easily pay a fortune to have one – especially if he believed there was only one.

Ruutor sent out a subspace message to Ashrimar Palace, then closed his eyes again, rolled over and fell asleep.

 

3\. Unique

Prince Juriz, seventh heir of Ashrimar, collected rare things. He cared not whether they were beautiful or grotesque, useful or absurd, alive or lifeless, whether they had passed through countless hands since the dawn of time, or had been created a day earlier before his very eyes. All they needed was to be unique.

In his garden stood the last of the demon statues that had once adorned the temple of the underworld god Shu'u, its belly split open by a deep crack from which dark blue vines grew that had tangled themselves around the demon's head. He possessed the only Singing Cat of Leshwa that could not sing, a thin, pale, sullen beast that sauntered aimlessly through the palace, littering the majestic halls with mouse carcasses and excrements. Of the triplet princesses of Dai that had once been offered him as slaves, Juriz had only kept the one whose belly bore the scar of the birth-aid cut. That this also meant she was unclean did not matter to him, for he was not interested in her body. He wore the teeth of extinct dragonfish around his neck and ankles, and painted his eyes with the powdered petals of the roses that blossomed in the wastelands of Urudin, where no other flower would grow.

His most prized possession was a living thing, and though that is usually a contradiction in itself, only in this case it was true. It was an android, an intelligent being whose physique perfectly resembled that of a young man like Juriz himself, but who had been constructed by the hands of men, fashioned from alien elements that could bring machinery to life. He was strong and elegant and his hair was dark as the prince's own, but his skin, eyes and lips were the pale gold of a harvest moon. His name was Data.

He was more obedient than any slave living in the palace, but always a cloud of melancholy seemed to shroud him like a veil, filling Juriz with a strange sense of foreboding. By night he worked at the astronomy tower, where he assisted the priests and diviners in observing and predicting the movements of the fixed and the wandering stars, correcting their calculations and improving their models of correspondence between the heavenly and the earthy phenomena. By day, when the sun's warmth passed through the palace like a slow, sensual dream and the light streamed down in myriad colors from the glass flower dome above the prince's bed, Juriz made love to him, honoring his beauty with caresses both gentle and rough. Data responded with visible enjoyment, sometimes even passion, but his eyes remained cool and distant and afterwards he was silent for many hours. This, too, puzzled the prince.

He ordered the diviners to question the stars about the android's behavior, but they shook their heads and pointed at the handbooks, saying that they did not understand why their lord prince concerned himself with such matters, that it was only his own well-being that was important, and through him the well-being of the land, his victory in war, the submission of the enemy, the swelling of the rivers and the coming of spring. He offered a newborn lamb in the temple and prayed, but the god with his beard of gold and eyes of moonstone, the only violet moonstone in all of the lands, did not answer. He turned to the practitioners of the old rites that had falled out of fashion, the readers of sheep's liver and lung, but they told him their knowledge was of sickness and death and a machine could neither fall ill nor die.

Finally Juriz asked Data himself if there was anything more he needed or desired, but the android only fixed his pale golden eyes upon his master's face, opened his mouth and closed it again, as if he wished to speak but couldn't. Thereupon Juriz kissed him, and Data did not resist.

One evening they lay side by side after their coupling, and had been lying that way for what might have been hours, for Juriz awoke from a strange slumber to find that daylight had already faded from the sky and the gods of dusk had painted all the world with the loveliest shade of blue, the kind he wished he could possess in the shape of a stone, or simply in a bottle. He reached over Data to light the oil lamp and was startled to find that the android was motionless, his eyes closed, his features peaceful. Yet he was not capable of sleeping and Juriz had never seen him in this state before. Seized by panic, the prince shook him and called his name, but to no avail. Then he heard a soft, unpleasant laughter from the darkest corner of the room.

Juriz looked up and saw someone stepping out of the shadows. For a moment he believed he was still dreaming, for the intruder looked in almost every respect exactly like Data. It was as if the soul of the lifeless android on the bed had risen and taken on a physical form of its own. He was clothed, however, and the simple travel garments he wore were not in the style of the people of Ashrimar. In one hand he held the remote control that the prince had obtained from the trader, but had never needed to use. In his other hand he held a firearm. His eyes shone like those of one who has just killed another person, and taken pleasure in it.

"Playtime's over,“ he said, and smiled.

Juriz called his guards, but there was no response. His gaze returned to the gun, and he wondered how he could not have heard it fire. “Get up,” the android ordered, “and back away from the bed.”

Slowly the prince rose from under the cool silken sheets, stood upright and walked backwards towards the high windows. He was aware that he was not clothed and that only a few feet away stood someone who seemed to him to be a demonic version of his lover, equally beautiful, but as deadly as Data was innocent. In his heart he already knew that he would lose something that night, something he cherished and cared for more than he realized, and that filled him with great sorrow. Yet he could not help but look with fascination at the creature before him, who, if things had been different, could have walked his gardens and halls together with Data, protected him as a guard, perhaps even shared his bed, too. Fate has tricked me, he thought.

The android gestured with the gun. “Now open the windows and step away from them.”

Juriz did as he was told. He watched the android pick up Data's body with one arm and swing it over his shoulder. “What is your name?” he said.

The android told him. It was a lovely name. It had the sound of long-lost wisdom and ancient fairy tales, of secret knowledge and forbidden crafts. Like love magic, or waking the dead so that one may speak with them. Or giving life to a machine in the shape of a person.

The android stepped through the windows onto the balcony, his eyes glowing brightly in the dark like poisonous fireflies. Juriz realized he felt drawn to him, in a way he had never felt before. This was not someone he could possess, yet the thought of letting him go was suddenly unbearable to him.

"Please,” he said. “Stay. I can give you more power, more pleasure than you can imagine. I'll make you the commander of my troops. The spoils of war, the barbarians' riches, they will all be yours. You can sleep with anyone you want, girls, boys...” He hesitated. “Or with me, if you like.”

The android turned, looked him up and down, and his lips curled in a condescending smile. “There's only one that I want,” he said, “and now I've got him. The rest you can keep.”

He pressed a small button on his belt and suddenly he and the load he carried were gone. Juriz looked around in surprise, then instinctively walked onto the balcony. He looked left and right at the walls of the tower, gazed out over the palace's many roofs and windows, bridges and courtyards, but his visitor was nowhere to be seen.

Suddenly he felt a hand grab his throat and for a brief moment he was pulled against the android's strong body. He was no longer carrying anyone, he just held the prince in an unbreakable grip while Juriz' heart beat wildly, once, twice, three times against his pressing fingers.

Then Lore pulled the trigger and dropped the young prince's limp corpse carelessly on the balcony floor.

*** (end)


End file.
